


Orange is the new wrecked

by spookywoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry Potter, Dark Draco Malfoy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: Accused of a crime he didn't commit, Harry believes Draco Malfoy is behind it. No matter what anyone else says, he can't let it go.He can't lethimgo.





	Orange is the new wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [keyflight790](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790) and [Estrella](http://hogwa) for the beta and encouragement!
> 
> I went somewhere darker than usual with this, and it's uncharted waters for me.

Harry closed his eyes and pictured his undoing.

It was orange.

-/-

After following Malfoy for the better part of a week, changing his polyjuice identity twice a day, and utilising his invisibility cloak to lurk, he still had no proof the man was behind the theft of secret Ministry documents. Still, Harry clung to his certainty.  He didn’t need proof; it was everyone else who demanded those things.

Harry knew.

“I’m sorry, Potter,” Robards had told him. “Malfoy has an alibi.”

The disappointed look on the head auror’s face had said it all. Everyone accepted that Harry had been the last one in the records room. Everyone knew the evidence pointed to Harry having taken the witness lists. Everyone told him to let it go after his suspension, to let the investigators do their jobs.

“You’ve got to move on from this,” Hermione had urged, pained, grabbing his hand across the dinner table one night.

But he couldn’t move on. Three people had died. He couldn’t let that go. And he couldn’t forget that it had been all his fault, letting Malfoy beguile and distract him, opening parts of himself he’d never known to revel in their darkness. Malfoy shook the very foundations of his entire being, and Harry knew he wasn’t coming back from that.

He held onto the memory of breaths on his back, rough hands on his hips, and the ache of lust and hate coiling into something else, some addictive thing he couldn’t grasp but couldn’t stop chasing. Every morning he woke up, pushed those images to the back of his mind and repeated the victims names over and over until he remembered that he hated Draco Malfoy more than he loved him.

So he watched him. He found things to hate and things to love, the lists growing with each passing day. The more Harry repressed—denying his appreciation for the angle of Malfoy’s shoulders, the narrowing of his hips, the subtle way he smiled at the clouds when they parted against the sun—the more determined he became, tense and desperate, for relief.

What relief would that be? Falling further into the darkness, letting himself be consumed by it? Wanting to be touched, undone, overtaken by a murderer? Or would he rid himself of Malfoy altogether, saving the day yet again?

Watching him, Harry knew it was dark thoughts of having Malfoy inside him, the breathy voice once in his ear now the harrowing voice in his head. It kept him up at night. His chest heaved, each breath either one of hope or despair as he twisted fingers inside himself, gripped his cock, whispering _Draco._

Sometimes he felt like crying after he'd come, sometimes he burned with even more need, reaching out and forgetting that he was alone. Sometimes Harry would tell himself it was the last time he'd touch himself and think of Draco Malfoy. He would lay tangled in sheets, a sheen of sweat blanketing his skin, reminding himself of the mission, that it was more important than him. He had to stop what was happening.

But sometimes in the darkness of unfamiliar places, in the minutes when the blood and chemicals rushed through his veins, he admitted that he was tired of saving people.

And then he would cry, remembering the dim light of a dank room, a rickety antique bed, when it felt like Draco Malfoy had saved _him_. And Harry hated him for it.

-/-

The first day Harry followed him, Malfoy darted out the back door of a derelict butcher’s shop, a smirk on his lips and his hair tousled, disheveled, obscene. Harry had barely seen Malfoy’s hair out of place before the nights they’d shared together. It shook him, sending heat through his body despite the bitter, unforgiving Welsh breeze.

When Malfoy paused, and with a delicate finesse, spelled the stray locks back in place, Harry almost gasped. The faded, peeling paint on the door was a loud, burnt orange, and the contrast of blond hair and pale skin against it magnified Malfoy's features. He was stunning, even windswept and rushed.

Disguised as an elderly woman, Harry kept a slow pace behind Malfoy, pretending to struggle with each step on the uneven cobblestones of Aberystwyth. He hadn't a clue what Malfoy was doing in Wales.

After a few minutes, Malfoy stopped in front of a window display. Harry decided to pass him. A few feet before he reached Malfoy, Harry tripped, and pale hands outstretched to catch him. Even beneath the layers of wool and linen, the touch burned him to his very core.

“There now,” Malfoy said, the hint of a smile on the edges of his sharpness. His knowing grey eyes pierced Harry. “It would be _terrible_ if you fell.”

Harry frowned, shook off Malfoy’s grip, and hobbled down the walk without another glance.

When he caught up to him the next day, wearing the face of a young banker, Harry took his place at the edge of a lively market, watching the tall blond as he made his way from stall to stall. Harry bought a few items, blended in, made conversation with vendors and other patrons. He perched next to a wool vendor and spied Malfoy in deep conversation with a cloaked figure. He’d meant to follow the figure, but got distracted when Malfoy approached a fruit vendor, eventually leaving with a full bag of items.

Later, when Malfoy found a bench and sat, legs parted, relaxing in the sultry light of a hazy day, Harry hid under his cloak to watch him.

Malfoy reached into the bag and grabbed something. Harry’s mouth dried as Malfoy’s long, thin fingers dug into an orange, carefully pulling the peel back in one unbroken, sensuous motion before consuming slices of the citrus.

When Malfoy returned to his cottage, Harry took to his warded tent nearby and touched himself for over and hour, unsure if it was torture or sweet, blissful liberation. The entire time he pressed his fingers into himself, he pictured Malfoy’s face when he’d been peeling the orange, concentrating, confident, powerful. It reminded him of the same beautiful face, focused and rapt with desire, carefully peeling back pieces of Harry until he had nothing left but need, a yearning for salvation he’d never experienced until that moment.

Two days later, Harry followed Malfoy to a house outside the city, and watched as he bought illegal potions ingredients and talked to the seller for over an hour. Casting a listening charm _,_ he grew bored of their dull conversation about earthworms and weather blocking spells and the climate needed for proper cultivation of a particular kind of fungi. When Malfoy thanked the seller, he apparated away.

Harry apparated to the nearest Owlery and scribbled a note to Ron about the illegal sales he’d witnessed. He downed another dose of Polyjuice and went out into the night looking for Malfoy.

After hours of searching and his flask of Polyjuice empty, he headed to a side alley to apparate to his tent.

“Are you following me, now, Potter?”

Harry tensed at the warm breath against the back of his neck. But he didn’t fight it when Malfoy grabbed his wrists and quickly uttered a binding spell, hoisting Harry’s hands above his head. Some invisible force held them up and suddenly he was at Malfoy's mercy. He barely struggled against the rough touches that ripped down his trousers and pants; he didn’t flinch when Malfoy gripped his hardening cock.

“Why? Are you doing something wrong?” Harry gritted, holding back a moan.

“Everything I do is wrong to you," Malfoy replied, tightening his grip and nosing at Harry's neck, making him shiver. Fingers skirted over his balls and then twisted around his shaft. Harry moaned and arched back, his head practically resting against Malfoy’s shoulder.  
  
“Is this what you wanted?” Malfoy whispered in his ear.

Harry bit his lip. “Mmm,” was all he could reply. He'd lost all thought of his mission the moment he'd heard his voice.

“Are you all pent up for me, then? Or have you been wanking under that invisibility cloak?”

Malfoy dipped his head and pressed his lips to Harry’s neck, trailing kisses and bites across his racing pulse. Harry didn’t even care that his efforts had been obvious, in vain. Part of him had suspected Malfoy’d known he was there all along.

“Have you been thinking about the last time I bent you over and fucked you ‘til you screamed?” He bit down hard enough to draw blood and Harry cried out. “Because I have.”

The hands on him disappeared and the loss of heat and sensation was almost painful. Suddenly his emptiness consumed him again. All he could think about was the night Malfoy sauntered over to him at the Leaky Cauldron, eyeing him like he’d wanted nothing more in the world than to consume Harry; when he shoved Harry against the door of a dingy guest room in Knockturn Alley, pushed inside him; kissed him fierce, until all Harry knew was desire and for the first time, transcendence. Images from the half a dozen times after flooded his mind, filling him with even more desperation.

“Please,” he begged. “Fuck, Malfoy, I need it.”

Fingers grabbed at his ass, parting the cheeks as Malfoy muttered preparation spells, hot breaths against Harry’s skin. Then Malfoy pressed his chest against Harry’s back, still fully clothed. One of his hands gripped Harry’s hip with a bruising force.

At the sound of a zipper, Harry groaned and leaned back.

“You’re ruined now, aren’t you, Potter?” Malfoy sneered.

He cast a lube spell and then steadily pressed the head of his cock against Harry’s entrance. As Harry realized the care Malfoy was taking, the arduous consideration for someone who’d barely been prepped, he thrust his hips back and took Malfoy’s cock in one searing movement.

“Fuck,” Malfoy said, almost shouting.

Harry didn’t even wait and started fucking himself on Malfoy’s thick cock.

“Yes,” he moaned. Better than he remembered, the pain turned to pleasure after only a few dips of his hips, hitting him in wave after wave of unbridled sensation. He finally admitted he’d been waiting for that moment all bloody week.

“Fuck, Malfoy, yes.” He sank down until he’d taken Malfoy all the way to the base. “So fucking full.”

“Is that what you wanted, Potter? Someone to fill you up?” Malfoy grabbed Harry’s hips and put a hand to his spine, pushing Harry down and changing the angle. With hard, quick thrusts, he hit the spot inside Harry that made him see white.

Harry didn’t recognize the sounds that came out of his mouth, he only knew the rhythm of his pulse, the pressure of pleasure beckoning him to his relief.

“I asked you a question, Potter.” Malfoy stopped. He pulled out of him. Harry cried out at the loss. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” Harry begged, shoving his hips back. There was nothing he wanted more in the world.

Malfoy leaned down and bit Harry’s ear. “Or do you want to know who’s killing witnesses?”

-/-

That night, Harry's list of things he hated about Malfoy grew increasingly longer than the list of things he loved.

As Harry healed the bruises left behind by Malfoy's binding spell, Malfoy explained his theory. Apparently somewhere in Wales was a cloister of fundamentalist wizards, and they were behind the witness killings. Malfoy had worked with them before, but couldn't get access to their hideout.

Harry's anger reached a breaking point.

“You expect me to believe this?” he yelled. His voice boomed in the quaint living area of Malfoy's cottage.

“I have all the proof here,” Malfoy held out a leather bound journal.

Harry glanced at it and scoffed.

“Are you mad because I'm a better investigator than you or because I wouldn't finish fucking you in that alley?”

“I'm angry because you supposedly have evidence that could clear both our names,” Harry explained, the swirl of his arousal still a knot inside him. He took a breath, and remembered who he was when Malfoy wasn't flaying the other parts of him away. “You ran.”

Malfoy sneered. “Can you blame me, Potter? The minute something happened, you blamed me for it.”

Harry fixed him with a stare. “You aren't innocent in this.”

“Well, I'm not guilty either.” Malfoy leveled, his grey eyes flickering with obstinate righteousness.

The intensity between them felt like too much, but all Harry wanted to do was dive into it and let it consume him. He closed his eyes and broke the connection, whispering, “Why are we like this?”

“How else would you have us be?”

“Not this,” Harry opened his eyes. “I can't go on like this.”

Malfoy walked over to him and grabbed Harry’s face in his hands, putting their lips only inches apart. “Do you think I want to be this--this person who... _yearns for you?_ Circe,” Malfoy leaned down and pressed his lips to Harry's in a soft, reverent kiss. All the conflict melted away in the heat of their union. Harry placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders, steadying himself and relishing in the touch. Draco's fingers swept across his cheeks, his jaw, caressing his skin in a soft and unfamiliar way. It felt more intimate than anything Harry had ever experienced.

When Malfoy broke the kiss, he let his forehead rest against Harry's. “You'd give me all of you, Harry, and I'd never get enough.”

They lay down a bed of wool blankets and sheep skin in front of the fire before littering it with their discarded clothes. This time, when Draco pulled down Harry's pants, he sank to the floor with them. On his knees, he took the head of Harry's cock into his mouth and rolled his tongue around it, drawing a loud moan from Harry.

“Fuck.”

It was bliss, and Harry got lost in the hot, wet slide of Draco’s mouth, the obscene noises they were both making, and the soft feel of Draco’s hair between his fingers.

When it felt like too much, he stopped him and made him stand flush against him. “I want you to take what you want,” he said and then kissed Draco, “what you need,” he kissed him again, “because I will never get enough of you either.”

This time when Draco pushed into him, they were facing each other, lying on an orange, woven wool blanket. He took his time with slow, careful thrusts, while his hands savored every inch of Harry's skin.

“You're too fucking beautiful like this, Harry,” Draco breathed, his cheeks flushed, his voice trembling. He leaned down and littered Harry's chest with wet kisses, sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit down.

Suddenly everything changed. Harry closed his eyes and arched into something ethereal, getting lost in the fervor of wave after wave of fierce, white hot pleasure. It was blinding, scorching; it was the most alive that he'd ever felt.

“Draco,” he shouted as he came untouched, thick come coating his abdomen. He opened his eyes and took in Draco's face, twisted in pleasure as he stared down at the evidence of their coupling.

“Fuck, Harry,” he breathed and met Harry's eyes.

Harry trailed his hands up Draco's arms to his shoulders, over his pulse until they cupped his jaw.

“Take it. Take everything.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered and he turned his head and kissed the palm of Harry's hand. Then his features changed from serene devotion to determination. He pushed deep, burying his cock in Harry with hard, shallow thrusts. Harry’s arms fell to his sides, clutching the orange blanket like a lifeline. Every thrust ripped a scream of pleasure from him until he was quivering from too much sensation.

Draco bent over and whispered, “No one will ever love you like I do.”

Harry grabbed the nape of Draco’s neck and held his face close. “I know."

He pulled Draco in for a rough, wet kiss, their tongues clashing in feverish promise. A few moments later, Draco came, driving deep into him, his body quaking as the tension of pleasure released.

In the stillness, Draco bent down and kissed Harry before rolling to his the side to lie on his stomach.

“Draco,” Harry leaned over and kissed his shoulder, the lingering traces of his exertion salty on his lips.

“Hmm?” he rolled over and stared at Harry, eyes half lidded, a rare, content openness on his face, a softness so beautiful Harry wished he'd had a camera to capture it.

Harry put his hands behind his head and stared into the fire. He couldn't bring himself to look back at Draco’s when he asked, “How do you know what's between us is love?”

“Because if it was anyone else, I would've killed them.” Harry turned, eyes wide. Draco stared at him, his look earnest, almost contrite. Harry gulped, but softened his features in reassurance before tucking himself under one of Draco’s arms.

“Sometimes I think I could let myself get swallowed up in your darkness,” Harry whispered after awhile. But his only answer was the steady rise and fall of Draco’s breathing. He stayed awake until the fire dimmed, until exhaustion took over, and he drifted into a deep and satisfying slumber.

When Harry woke, tangled in the rough orange blanket, he knew immediately he was alone. He cleaned himself up, gathered his clothes, and dressed in the bitter chill of the abandoned cottage.

Making his way out, his head a mess of doubt and wistful rejoinders, the flash of orange on the side table near the door caused him to take a step back.

Next to a folded parchment sat a single orange. He grabbed them both and then made his way out. Bathed in the yellows and oranges of the new day, Harry pocketed the fruit and opened the note.

_I would never let you be consumed by my darkness, Harry. You're my only light._

_I'm moving on to the next place in search of answers. I know you'll find me. It's what you do._

_Draco_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


End file.
